Window Psalm

Leaf leaves the mother tree in its falling flight,
descends to die in the earth at her feet.
Leaf becomes soil, and soil becomes womb;
leave the childbearing to winter’s chill and
tales of a babe born and laid in a manger;
								                        selah.

Tree becomes testament, and book is bound,
its reflection white and glassy in the store window.
Read the window, tell the tree to tell her tale
in textbook and tome, story and poem,
or Scripture born on a pale, thin skin;
								                        selah.

Tomes of tombstones, one errant in the reflection
while blurred winter wind and sky imprint onto the glass.
Soil becomes tomb as another year goes to sleep,
bedded down beneath snow, sidewalk, and an aging sun
while rainbow lights color each cornflower Yule twilight;
								                        selah.

Brownstones rise from the earth with aplomb
while Christmas bells chime and call choruses forth.
The choirs, the organs, and the digitally made song
cannot reach the man, distant, imprinted in the window –
distant and singular in this season of joy;
								                        selah.

O glass, what more will you impart
in this season of both ashen day and resplendent night?
Birth and death pass each other with wary, cautious eyes,
unsure of the true ruler of these days –
is it the cold claiming our breath or the warmth of our hearts?
								                        Selah.

Written 12/13/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
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This poem was written for this week’s We Write Poems Prompt. My poem ended up being a psalm based on how the images in the picture called out to me and the interplay between them — and the words associated with them.

“Selah” is a word used rather frequently in the psalms of the Torah/the Old Testament of Bible. According to Wikipedia, it is “a difficult concept to translate”; it might be a liturgical instruction or indicate an instrumental break. Anglican clergyman and Biblical scholar E.W. Bullinger believed that it was a conjunction between two verses of a psalm, possibly to illustrate a contrast or a cause-and-effect relationship. The suggested meaning that caught my eye the most — and is how the term is intended to be used in this poem — is “pause, and think of that”, which is how the term is translated in the Amplified Bible.

-Nicole
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Stumble It!
Stumble It!

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Free-Falling

I. I’m not sure all these people understand

You see bodies like broken dolls free-falling
onto the clean and deserted pavement.
Blood slides out of tiny crevice and huge chasm wounds
and joins the shells of flesh as they collapse and land
onto the asphalt. You swear that you can see
breath exiting as the bodies hit the ground – but the breath
always climbs upward, leaving its old ribcages behind.
Now, there is nothing left but smoke and desolate silence as
crumpled bodies and crumpled trucks lay empty
underneath the orchid, scarlet, and maize colored dawn.

Suddenly there is only blackness –
you fall from dreams into waking –
and land with a sudden jolt –

and there is only you, your trembling limbs,
your quivering nerves running scared up and down
the length of your body,
and the half-lit cloak of night that kept you company
while you slept. You sit up, shirtless and sweat-drenched,
the survivor of yet another head-on collision
between you and nightmare.

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Without End, Amen

The gathering at the oak tree gazes up to watch
light breaking through the leaves in lucent blonde fingers;

hallelujah

through the gathering of leaves — the oak’s green sleeves:
a blind wooden eye turns, and the gifts slip through her fingers;

hallelujah

as colors race through the membrane sky –
the rainbow siblings salute us through azure as one;

hallelujah

past the rain, shed to call colors up from
the earthen membrane beneath us, where we stand as one

hallelujah,

and we send back the song as electric impulses,
voices carried through limbs and hearts alone;

hallelujah

is our voices escaping only in breaths and upraised limbs as
we each stand before You alone;

hallelujah

Written 11/29/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

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This week’s poem was inspired by two things: 1) “Hallelujah” by R.E.M., which appears on their latest release, “Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, and Part Garbage” and 2) the We Write Poems Prompt this week which suggested that we look at words in pairs and the relationships between words. The picture is courtesy of Rampaging Poet from Deviant Art.

Process Notes: I basically took the words in the order that they appeared and considered each two to be a pair (gathering/oak, color/membrane, and voice/limb). Once I did this, the images and the story began to emerge. Also, I’ve been listening to “Hallelujah” lately…it’s an absolutely gorgeous and inspiring track and it just makes me even sadder that they broke up…but at the same time it seems like the perfect song for an ending. The spiritual nature of the lyrics inspired me…I wanted to write a companion/answer that would do it justice.

-Nicole
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Stumble It!
Stumble It!

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Hawk Eyes

The sign reads 20 MPH. The hawk: 0 MPH.
He, a mute sentinel of white and tawny feathers, perches
atop its narrow, blade-thin edge to watch
cars pass in the rain: swivel, stare, and then
swivel again in perfect two hundred seventy degree
rotations.
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The Art of Autism Exhibit: November 4 – 6, 2011

The Art of Autism Exhibit will run from November 4 – 6 at the Good Purpose Gallery in Lee, Massachusetts. Please click on the graphic below for more information and a full flyer about the event.

A short film for my poem, “Letter to My Father“, will be shown during the exhibit.

The Art  of Autism 2011 Exhibit

Please share/Tweet/post on FB/reblog/etc. :)

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Stumble It!
Stumble It!

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You and Me, We Know About Time

R.E.M., 1984

R.E.M., 1984

For Peter, Bill, Mike, and Michael

You were made out of
cinereal, coriander, and lemon;
sable, cinnamon, and indigo;
bergamot, ginger, and rose. You
spoke like a thesaurus and sounded like
troubadours, da Vinci, broken glass, microchips, and
guitar string nerves, ragged at the edge
and carrying too much current. You
mumbled and sang clarion from rooftops by turns.
All of this has been living in my ears
and in my brain, that attic that
holds everything and lets go of nothing.
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ARS SPECTRA: The Artistic Autistic Exhibit, Manhattan

[reposted from Debra Hosseini]

THE ART OF AUTISM presents

ARS SPECTRA: The Artistic Autistic

October 27th -  October 30th

A Four-Day Festival of Art, Music, Song and Performance
by Autistic Artists

at

The Soho Gallery for Digital Art
138 Sullivan St. New York, NY 10012
212 228-2810
sgdaintra@gmail.com

A four-day extravaganza showcasing the wide-ranging artistic talents of people on the autism spectrum. Free and ticketed events will include an art exhibition, live performances, art workshops and more. 

Special Guests will include Keri Bowers (Normal People Scare Me), Debra Hosseini (Artism: The Art of Autism), artists Justin Canha and Esther Brokaw, professor/musician Stephen Shore and Dr. Rosa C. Martinez (Strokes of Genius)

Click here for a flyer with more information about the show (PDF).

Meet My Father.

Meet my father.

My Father

SYKE!

Actually, that is me playing my father in the video shoot for my poem, “Letter to My Father” which be submitted for the Art of Autism exhibit this November. The video was shot Sunday and is currently being edited.

And stayed tuned to my YouTube channel…the video will be uploaded there after the November exhibit.

-Nicole

Kittens

The cat: sky-gray and fence post slender.
Me: twenty-three and in my first real apartment,
in my first real city, outside of short term college hovels
with short term leases and cheap-ass furniture (not) included.
I found the cat while helping a (former) friend
clean out his house, junk-laden and miscarrying memories
like fruit, love, and children that were never meant to be.
A (misconceived) polyamory experiment gone wrong – and now
the house was being emptied of old photos, clothes, and
a barn cat hiding inside every shadow watching humans
flit to and fro with boxes in their arms. In between boxes,
I carried her away, too.
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The Chase

Lord Dream

Lord Dream from the Sandman Chronicles

Following you from dreamscape to dreamscape, I
cannot help but notice the taunt of
a quickly turned head,
an averted glance,
or a frozen neck refusing to turn on axis
to bring your eyes in contact with mine. I have chased you
from the steps of every illusion woven and constructed
from the vagaries of an attic stuffed with photographs
by a lizard brain that demands a coherent storyline.
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Aluna

Stop, and bend your ear low
to the ground. Now listen: the breath is labored,
almost choked in some spots. There are people
who can read these signs like ragged, torn air
leaving the lungs of a tired Mother, and they say
that we are killing Her.
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Saturn Return

for Amy Winehouse

The forever young are held in a pair of parentheses
made out of 27 years;
the ageless are collected within the arms of Saturn,
exhaling breath at his baleful return.

Each of you has a life cycle,
you all follow the same path from birth to death.
You first enter as a little bright light, a tiny pinpoint of sparkle;
you part the curtain, hiding as white dwarfs behind this
ringed gas giant, fearful of his mythical jaws.
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